Obsession
by Malvagia
Summary: A single glance can cause the heart to ache. A series of strange letters leads to a chain of events that may ultimately tear the king's world apart. Post-ROTK.
1. A King and His Queen

Well, after rummaging through my old hard drive, I stumbled across some LotR fan-fics I wrote about five years ago. They were GOD awful, I must say. Then again, it was the work of a 13-year-old. So after reading them over I decided to utilize the plots (somewhat) and begin another work.

**This is a WIP**. I'll continue based on what feedback I receive. I'd like to know what you think of the plot I reveal in this "opening chapter". It's been some time since my last multiple chapter work.

Thanks in advance!

P.S: This is primarily movie-based. I read the books when I was about twelve, so much is a blur. Bear with me. Also, it is **post-film**.

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'_You once claimed to see the fright in our eyes, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of the fervor in yours. You said we were brothers; men of Gondor, of the west. That we were the protectors of this age of men. And I recall for that moment a hunger in my soul. A blazing desire to stand by your side, just you and I. To defend you from whatever passed through the obsidian gates that lurked before us. But then everything began to move so fast, and I lost sight of you..'_

It was nearly dawn when he awoke; breath quick and heart rapid. Calloused fingers wiped at dampened cheeks, and he realized then that he was coated in a fine sheen of perspiration. He ran those fingers through his chocolate locks and heaved a sigh, glimpsing the slumbering maiden that lay vulnerable at his side. The very sight of her calmed his nerves, relaxed his tense demeanor.

He adjusted his posture, lying on his side to gaze at her sleeping form. He placed a gentle hand to the fairly swollen belly that rested beneath her silken robes, seeking further comfort from the child that slumbered within. Heaving yet another sigh he closed his eyes, envisioning himself cradling his son. It comforted him.

Mild flutters caressed his palm for a few fleeting moments, as if to coax him back into a restful state. And coax it did, as the king soon found himself drifting off once more.

'_How I yearn for you in these dark hours. My hands tremble with each word, craving to be set in prayer to see you again. But I know, oh how I know, it is not so simple. Prayers are for the feeble-minded. No, it is dedication I must give. Sacrifice. A pursuit that will bring us together one day, you and I. We must have patience, my love. Patience. I know you sense it too. You spoke to me that day on the battlefield. When your eyes sought mine for that single moment, I knew you spoke to me. With every measure of my being, ever fiber of my will, I will seek your company. And perhaps one day your gentle caress will linger along my cheek, and we will be allowed our devotions. But we must have patience. Yes, patience..'_

A haze rose from the dew-laden grass over the valleys of Minas Tirith. What rains had fed the earth passed sometime in the night, leaving the kiss of sunlight in its wake. A faint breeze brushed through the silken tresses of the king as he set his eyes upon a new day. From the balcony he examined absently the goings-on about the uppermost level of the city. A man dusting off his cart; a woman adjusting her hair. A group of delegates making their way toward the palace gates, strolling regally past a crowd of children admiring a puppet show.

A group of delegates..

Aragorn cursed himself as he burst into his chambers, hurriedly clothing himself in his finery. So heated was he that he almost did not notice his queen's giggle from the bed. Her musical laughter lightened his heart, and for a moment the matters at hand were forgotten.

"Did we forget an important date?" Her voice was liquid gold to his beggar ears. With a bit of effort she propped herself up, running delicate hands in soothing motions along her belly. With a roll of the eyes Aragorn looked to her, lips pursed. She was right, as per usual.

"Not forgotten. Simply diverted." He smoothed his hair, placing the coronet upon his head. A knock sounded at the door, a soft voice expressing wishes to enter. Arwen swung her legs alongside the bed, standing on rocky feet to snatch a robe from the bedpost. The satin fabric hung gracefully about her form as those elegant fingers clasped the hooks together.

Once decent, the door was opened, revealing a tea-cup of a woman garbed in a simple woolen robe. Red hair was pulled into an intimidating bun, face taught and creased. She stepped aside, making way for a rugged man with leathery skin. His eyes glimpsed fierce blue beneath the ebony curls upon his head which bounced with every step. He walked with purpose toward the king, placing a hand to his heart in greeting.

"A good morning to you, my lord. The ambassadors from the south have arrived to discuss the trade commissions, among other things." His voice was thick, laden with an accent that seemed fitting. Aragorn pressed his lips together as he meticulously fiddled with his tunic.

"Of course. Inform them that I will be present shortly. In the meantime, offer them what accommodations they need." He nodded to the petite woman by the door. The two departed swiftly, leaving the king to his queen.

"I trust you will entertain yourself whilst I deal with this?" His voice held a teasing undertone. Arwen giggled once more.

"I shall pickle myself in a hot bath." A gleam shone in her eye.

"Pickle, you say? I would rather not be king to a vegetable." Her laughter once more filled him with a child-like glee. He sauntered over to her, kneeling and placing sweet kisses along her abdomen.

"I will not be long."

'_My dearest, the wait will soon be over..'_

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Short, but as I said, simply a glimpse into what hopefully will turn out to be a long and fulfilling experience for both author and reader.

Let me know what you think so far!


	2. Curious Tidings

Yes, yes, the second installment. I was away this weekend for the holiday, though worked on this when I had the chance. I thank you for the reviews, and I hope this chapter garners as much appreciation, if not more.

Again, this is a WIP.

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There was nothing King Elessar would rather do less than discuss and negotiate the trade routes forming in the south. Alas, however, he was King.

It had been three years since the coronation. The lands of the south had since then been made anew, surrounding villages uniting to form a solid union. Calahn, Aragorn's primary aide, hailed from this newly-formed colony.

Aragorn ceased in his musings when his boot made contact with the stark marble flooring of the foyer. Before him stood a group of six immaculately dressed, leather-skinned individuals; all of them regal yet harboring undertones of weariness. One could almost glimpse the trails left by sweat upon their brow if studied closely.

For a moment no one spoke, the king's footsteps echoing in the white room. He swung his arm out along the group in friendly gesture, words touched with warmth.

"My friends, please. If you will but follow me and we will be underway." He motioned toward the archway on their left.

The room beyond the vestibule was engaging, to say the least. Upon each wall hung tapestry from separate provinces, each unique to their homelands. There was stoneware in every corner, each filled with flora of separate natures.

Once the group had surrounded the round table, Aragorn took his place before the miniature throne set for him, Calahn positioned close by. The men announced their names and standings respectively, each settling into the plush padding of the seating offered for them. The first and perhaps largest man folded his hands, crooking his neck some to glance at the king. His voice demanded respect.

"My lord, our crops have flourished this season. Our quarters have been rebuilt. We stand strong as one, and we are only just in the making. We have established means of bringing water to our people from the river. My lord, I and these good comrades from our neighboring villages propose a means of trade be made underway."

The king nodded appreciatively, course fingers scratching at his cheek lightly before responding.

"An alliance would indeed bring good fortune to your people, as well as a variety to those in this White City. I embrace this proposal, and accept it. I will journey with you to your lands in two days time with treaty and bounty. If I am to form this alliance, I wish to befriend its people."

The men of the table celebrated, clapping and nodding enthusiastically. The larger man stood, hand to his heart.

"My lord, you will not regret this."

And with that, further negotiations were made. It took what seemed like hours, at least that is how the queen felt. For out in the courtyard she sat, wind caressing her cheek as the sun kissed her ivory flesh. Beside her sat Delorah, the fiery haired chambermaid. The small woman mused over the clouds in the distance, her voice strained. Arwen smiled softly, nodding.

"Lo, I fear a storm is in the make." Delorah pursed her lips, pasty fingers absently brushing a stray hair from her eye.

"Do you think?" Her voice cracked some.

"I do believe so." The milky tone of the queen faded some as she stood, strolling along the cobblestone toward the white tree. She raised a hand, fingertip brushing along the petal of a new blossom.

The sound of distant hoof beats caught her attention, and soon she found herself peering over the stone rail far as she could. She could make out a single man on horseback, the steed decorated in royal colors. A smile graced her lips.

"Ah, the post. Perhaps news from Rohan to brighten my spirits." She awaited him patiently, watching him fade and reappear in her sights as he made his way up the city levels.

Delorah stood, lightly pushing the maiden toward the bench.

"You rest yourself, m'lady. You let me fetch that." Before the queen could interject, the woman was halfway across the courtyard. The herald had reached the garden by that time, dismounted and standing at attention. Cradled in one arm was a parcel, one that likely contained a collection of parchments and scrolls. Delorah curtsied respectively, taking hand of the correspondence.

The queen watched as the woman fumbled with the bundle, shuffling toward her. She stood, though sat once more when a scolding look came from beneath blazing bangs.

"There ought to be a month's worth of letters here, I'd say. Well wishes, I'd assume. Here, here." She carefully handed the letters over, settling down beside her mistress.

Arwen smiled, sifting through the parchment and scrolls. She unfurled one, scanning it over.

"Ah, yes. Lord Eomer sends regards." She smiled, replacing the letter to read again when she could better focus. After a few moments of sorting she paused, raising a particular letter to her nose. Nostrils flared as a rosy scent permeated the air.

Curiously, the queen ran a gentle finger beneath the envelope's fold, cracking the unfamiliar wax seal. Dried crimson petals fell forth as she removed the wrinkled letter from within, which she then smoothed as best she could without disturbing the intricate handwriting.

Her eyes scrutinized as they ran along what secrets the letter may have held, brows furrowing.

"It seems a love letter. There is no signature." She held it out for her companion to examine, who elicited the same curious response.

"Perhaps simply an admirer. For whom is it addressed?" She nosily probed the script.

"It does not say. No matter, for you are most likely correct in your assumption. Nevertheless, I will show it to Aragorn."

Formalities meant little between the queen and her mistress. Few people would hear the rightful names of their majesties from the lips of anyone not associated personally with them, let alone be able to speak them. Delorah felt a privileged in this sense. Her reflections were shattered abruptly when a sweep of silk brushed over her slippered foot, and she realized the queen had left their comfortable silence. Hurriedly she followed, muttering along the way.

The queen ambled through the open gateway, nodding to the guards as they saluted her. Her steps were light as she glided along the foyer to the royal stairwell, lifting the folds of her gown some as she began her ascent.

"Is the king still in conference?" The thin voice echoed in the spiral stairs, bouncing from wall to wall. The small woman pursed her lips as her own words were thrown back at her.

"Yes, and I fear it may be some time yet." She paused as they reached the landing, feet planted on plush carpeting.

"Perhaps mistress should rest, then?" Another echo, another pucker of the lips.

"Nonsense, Delorah. I am not yet so fragile that I must be weary." And with that, the elf sauntered down the halls to her chambers to await her king.

And wait she did, as it was not until nightfall that an exhausted Elessar stepped forth from the rowdy negotiations. The delegates had been shown to quarters, and were now tended to by the various aides of the palace. Aragorn had seen to it that arrangements be made for he and the men to travel south in three days time.

As his hand met the cool iron latch of the chamber door he smiled, hoping to see his queen on the other side. Taking no time to compose himself he pushed his way into the room.

There Arwen laid, her position at the edge of the bed suggesting that she had not meant to slip into this soft state of slumber. Her head was propped by the edge of her hand some, a wrinkled bit of parchment clutched beneath her. Aragorn strolled over to her side, kneeling before her to stroke her cheek. With a start the queen awoke, inhaling heavily.

"Aragorn! You startled me. How went the proceedings?" She supported herself on her elbows, a tired smile blossoming on her lips. Aragorn rocked back on his heels, gripping the edge of the bed.

"They went well, my love. Very well. I am to travel to Alhír in three days time to finalize the alliance." He eyed the parchment, though presumed she would speak of it when ready.

"There is to be an alliance? That is fantastic news. This city needs some color." She smiled once more, shifting into her elfin tongue. The king ran his hand along her curvaceous body, ceasing at the tip of her hand. The queen curled her fingers, wrinkling the paper. A small gasp escaped her lips as she unfurled them, smoothing the letter.

"Darling, this came today with the post. It was not marked, stuffed in with another parcel. What do you make of it?"

The king analyzed said letter, eyes glancing over each word. He pursed his lips, reading the first portion over once more.

"It sounds as if to speak of the war. Perhaps someone struggles to move on. Though the later half is lost to me. I will hold onto this, however, and keep my eyes peeled for anything further."

Seemingly satisfied, the queen laid her head back down.

"Now tell me all about this trip you are planning."

'_My darling, I pray you received my letter, and are heartened to know I think after you. It took everything in my power to assure that it would reach you. I dreamt this past eve of a full moon amongst a sea of stars, shining so bright. It reminded me of you. You shine in the darkest hours, this I know. _

_Though right now you may feel trapped in your duties, forced to mold for yourself a family in royal colors, do not be sorrowed. For my time has almost come to show you that we can be together. We can seek the happiness I know you so yearn for._

_It will be so. No matter what stands in our way.'_

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There you have it, chapter 2 of this continuing story. I hope you enjoyed and will continue to read as I continue to post.


	3. The Road to Alhír

**I'm re-posting this chapter after looking it over and finding a number of grammatical errors and realizing that I left a portion out. The next chapter is underway and should be out sometime in the week. **

**My explanation for the length it took to update is in the next installment, so please..no projectiles or knives!**

**Enjoy and as always, review!  
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Two days came and went, and the final eve had arrived before King Elessar was to depart for Alhír. It was decided that a proper escort was to be provided, and so Calahn, along with Faramir, lord of Emyn Arnen and Ithilien, were to accompany Aragorn.

As the king stepped from his chambers to finalize preparations, he was stopped by Delorah. The woman was weighed down by a basket filled with what looked to be assorted breads and cheeses. She huffed, blowing disheveled tresses from her face.

"My lord, your escort has arrived." She bowed best she could, scurrying down the hall before he could reply. It was a hectic night in the palace, after all. A feast was being held in honor of the treaty, and many were anticipated to attend.

Aragorn paused when he reached the door at the landing, adjusting his tunic appropriately. Rugged hands touched aging wood, and he pushed his way into the grand foyer. Awaiting him there was a group of familiar faces. A smile tugged at his lips as he strode across the marble flooring, eager to greet his guests.

There the king came into contact with Faramir, loyal steward and friend. Also awaiting him was the golden-haired maiden Eowyn, joy in her eyes at seeing her friends again. She lowered herself in an elegant bow as she removed herself from her husband's side. Aragorn smiled upon her, clasping her shoulders in his palms.

"Ah, the White Lady of Ithilien graces us with her presence. A title never suited so well before." For fit her it did, as clothed in white she was; a gown of rich lace and silk resting upon her curves.

"Oh I would not be so quick to make such claims, lord Aragorn." The king raised his brow at that, and she continued.

"I very much like to think your title is more fitting of you than anyone here." A merry laugh erupted from Aragorn, and he was lightened.

"Ever the charm to behold, my lady. Please, my friends, come. We've much to discuss before tomorrow's journey."

As the king turned to escort his guests, a clearing of the throat resounded in the room. Aragorn arched his brow, facing the entranceway once more. A familiar head of gold stepped forth from the evening air, blue eyes shining in the dying light of the room.

Aragorn's lips parted some before he hurried forward, pulling his elven friend into an embrace. It had been some time since last he saw the prince, and it put delight in his heart.

"_Mae govannen, _Legolas_." _The elf placed a hand to his heart, bowing.

"Estel." His voice was soft, though there was gleam of joy in his eye.

"My friend, what brings you on this eve? Surely there is much business to be dealt with in the Greenwood." The prince shook his head, extending a hand in Faramir's direction.

"My place is only here, escorting you to Alhír along with Faramir and Calahn." The king grinned, a laugh shaking his frame.

"A pleasant surprise. Come, a feast awaits."

The candles were just being lit as the group entered the grand dining hall. The glow of the torches brightened the room nicely, offering a warmth as the table was set. From across the room Arwen scurried, eager to greet them. Blue and silver met a flurry of white as the queen embraced her dear friend, and the two women laughed.

The doors on the far end of the room opened, and Calahn stepped forth. Garbed in an attire of deep burgundy and gold was he, as was customary for the people of Alhír. Following behind him was the group of gentlemen delegates, clothed in similar finery. Aragorn met them as they entered, clasping arms with each of them.

"My lord, your hospitality is truly something to behold. We look forward to your venturing with us on the morrow, and pray that you find our city to be just as kindly." The deep voice of Lord Kain, the largest man, echoed in the hall.

The group was soon seated around the table, and Delorah hurried along the other chambermaids. Wine was poured and food was brought out, lining the table from end to end.

Aragorn stood, raising his glass.

"A toast." The members of the room each raised their drinks in turn, granting full attention to their lord.

"To the arms of this city stretching to new lengths, creating bonds that we pray may never sever. To new friends and old, long live the alliance!"

"Here, here!" Lord Kain cheered, and the glasses were emptied.

Another of the gentlemen spoke up as he cut into his meal, his voice strained some.

"Your arm certainly does stretch far indeed to hold such friends. The elven race is dwindling. You are graced by the remainder of their population, it would seem." He motioned to the golden-haired prince with a wave of his hand. Legolas nodded once, sipping from his wine.

Aragorn seemed to ponder this as he placed his hand over Arwen's.

"Yes, we are lucky indeed to have such ties." The man nodded, accepting this as he shoved a spoonful of greens into his mouth.

The meal progressed for some time, talk of the war and future prospects filling the room. Soon it was time to turn in to respective quarters. The gentlemen from the south bid everyone a good eve, and before long it was a room of old friends left.

"Tell me lord Aragorn...do you feel at all nervous of this journey? It is a strange new land you speak of." The White Lady voiced. The king canted his head some, smiling.

"I do not believe there is anything to fear, lady Eowyn. It may be strange to my eyes, but it will not be unwelcome. I embrace the outlook of new ties to be made." The lady nodded, looking to the elf at her right.

"And do you, Prince Legolas, feel anticipation for this journey?" The elf looked to her, a smile on his lips as well.

"I will have two of my greatest companions along the way. I feel no doubt in my mind that this trip will serve for the better." Again, the lady nodded.

Arwen stood from her place, and the table fell silent.

"The hour grows late, and I pray you will all find a restful sleep before long. Let us not tarry, as a long day awaits us."

"Yes, yes, she is correct." Faramir expressed, standing as well. He extended a hand for his wife, who took it gratefully upon rising.

As the room emptied, Aragorn was left to his closest companion and ally.

"Legolas, it lightens my heart to see you. I must apologize for the gap in time since our last reunion." The elf shook his head.

"Nonsense saturates those words, Estel. We both took upon ourselves great duty. It is my honor to serve alongside your kingdom with those few left of my kin." Aragorn smiled, shaking his head.

"Even so, I am gladdened you are to take part on this venture. I will walk with pride knowing my closest friend is nearby."

"As will I, Estel." The king offered another warm smile.

"You remember where your chambers are, though I would not be surprised to find you asleep on the balcony again." This elicited a hearty chuckle from the prince.

"You know me too well_, mellon nin_."

"Lo, the hour indeed grows tardy, and I tired. I will see you on the morning light, Legolas." The king embraced his friend once more before the two retreated to their chambers.

It was an uneventful night as the city slept. Though for one without rest, it was agony. For in the dim light of an aged candle they sat, scrawling upon a fresh sheet of parchment. Hands shook and breath quivered, dark tresses pulled tightly away from a perspiring face.

'_Darling, word has drifted to my ears on the wind that you are to depart for the southern boarders. I will count the days to your return and assure that when you return, we may be reunited. For my plan is ready, oh yes, it is ready. Nothing will stand against us. I will care for you as you should be cared for..' _

And the night drew on, the candle's light flickering from existence.

The sun's rays poured through clouds of purple and gold, caressing the city with a warm touch. Ready were the horses of those to depart, each encumbered with packs of food and water, along with whatever else was necessary to their journey.

High above the city in the grand foyer a group was situated, garbed in clothes worthy of a long journey.

"It is a two-day ride to our city. We will make camp at nightfall." Lord Kain's voice woke those who were perhaps not yet fully alert. He took wide strides toward the entryway.

"The sun shines on our travels." A nod of approval was presented from those in the room.

Aragorn adjusted his gauntlets, leather garb reminiscent of his days in the war. His queen stood at his side, ready to farewell her king.

The group moved in one fluid motion to the courtyard, horses tapping their hooves to the cobblestone in greetings to their masters. Greenleaf was the first to mount, his white steed tossing its head back and whinnying in delight.

Aragorn smiled down at his pale maiden, stroking her cheek.

"Look for my return in a week's time." Their lips met in a tender kiss before parting, the king climbing atop his midnight steed.

Eowyn shared similar partings with her beloved, her hand smoothing his tunic meticulously.

"Do not tire yourself. I will watch for you."

The group was formed, Lord Kain and Aragorn at the head. Close behind was Calahn and Legolas, followed by the Alhíri gentlemen. They took a slow canter through the city streets, descending through the levels.

The white ladies watched as they road on from their place at the palace, and were lightened to see waves from the gates.

"I forgot what it was like in the white city..Emyn Arnen is so quiet in comparison." Eowyn's voice cut through the morning air, causing the queen to smile.

"I often miss the peace of the forest. Perhaps I will pay a visit when the child is of age." She laid a hand to her belly absently, which was snug beneath the lavender linen of her robes.

"You would be most welcome. A child's presence would indeed bring joy to the place." Arwen placed a hand to her friend's shoulder. It was no secret that the Lady of Ithilien was having difficulty in her endeavor to conceive a child.

"You are young yet, Eowyn. Do not fret." The queen offered her most comforting smile.

After a while the ladies returned to the palace, seeking refuge from the climbing heat.

'_..I will take this time to cleanse your life of those unnecessary burdens. Those requirements of the royal lifestyle..'_

The queen and her companion climbed to the second level of the palace, home to the royal family's library. The majority of the staff had not yet emerged from their chambers, as the hour was still early yet.

"We will take tea in here. I've a collection of scrolls set aside with ideas for the child's room. I would enjoy your opinion." She motioned toward the sofa by a grand window.

"I will fetch Delorah. In the meantime, you may look about as you please." The queen smiled to her friend before exiting the room, heading up the stairs to her chambers to change into something lighter.

'_..No longer will you suffer the confines of duty. You will return to find that you needn't worry over trivial matters any longer..'_

She entered the room to find it just as she left it. As she strolled toward the bed, she noticed a single rose lying upon her pillow. A grin plastered itself on her face as she lifted it to her nose, inhaling the heavenly scent. When she set the rose down, she realized a letter was neatly folded on her beloved's pillow.

She reached out for it, fingers only just stroking the edge when a sharp pain penetrated her senses, shooting from the back of her head to the base of her spine. She groped for something to grasp onto as she toppled over, the rich crimson and silver bedding the last she saw before everything faded to black.

'_I look forward to your return.'_

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**As I said, this was a re-post/edit. Next chapter coming soon!**


	4. Blissful Ignorance

**As promised, chapter four! I could go into great detail as to why it took nearly five months to get around to it, but that would be boring and full of deceased rodents and intravenous solutions.**

**And so, without further delay I present to you…this chapter. It's a tad short.**

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The journey to Alhír proved to be tiring as dusk approached on the first eve. The path required travel through Haradwaith, the abandoned Haradrim region in Southern Gondor. The land had become barren and debatable after the war of the ring, though just before the southernmost border was the grand city in the making.

In the setting sun could be spotted a small encampment, a nearly roaring fire staving off the coming darkness. The horses whinnied as the golden-haired elf tended to them, assuring each hoof was secure and each mane was clean. Aragorn admired the care his friend offered the beasts as he observed his actions, though his attention was drawn away by a loud splintering sound just to his left.

Lord Kain smiled as he cracked into a second walnut, extending it to the King. His eyes revealed mirth at having startled the man.

"Have your travels brought you to these lands before this night?" he inquired absently, snapping another walnut open. Aragorn's eyes lingered to the treat as he nibbled on his own.

"They have not. It was feared that it would become contested after the war, though with your city flourishing as it is, I believe those fears may be put to rest." More snapping of shells and soft chewing. Lord Kain nodded, popping the morsel into his mouth.

"Indeed, we wish only to offer sanctuary and culture, and to perhaps bring further peace to your kingdom." Aragorn clasped the man's shoulder in a friendly manner, chuckling.

"I have no doubts that you shall."

The two shared in a comfortable silence for a time, admiring the camp as it came together. By the fire, Faramir tended to what looked to be a stew, the scent of which had the men drooling. Calahn could be spotted attending to his own business as he went about sharpening his prized blades. A calm evening was falling, one that harbored a bright morrow.

Soon the entire caravan was surrounding the fire, the warmth brightening fatigued faces. A meal of stew and bread and wine was shared, one which the fiery-haired soldier took much pride in. Calahn graced the men with the sweet sounds of his lute, a melody familiar to the men of Gondor. Legolas began to sing to the chords, his soft voice carrying on the wind.

Before long the entirety of the camp was joining in, and a merry time was had.

Though such merriment could not extend to the reaches of the White City, for deep within its walls lay still the form of a maiden, arms bound and hair amiss with caked remnants of blood. Her fair skin was tinged a sickly hue, and her lips trembled in her troubled state.

The stone about her was cold, her only source of light a dying candle set in the far corner.

"They will be scouring the streets for you by now, M'lady." An eerily frigid voice penetrated the silence as a calloused hand drifted along the queen's jaw. No response was made, for what drugs had been administered were still well in effect.

"Such a pity that such beauty could be neglected so. A woman of your stature demands respect, deserves love. I am but doing you a favor." He set a hand over her belly, the infant writhing about beneath his touch.

"The poor child."

The candle faded as he departed from his asylum, drifting into the city life above as just another civilian.

The streets were lined with royal guards, the search for the queen heated and unending. The palace was in upheaval, torn apart twice over. Lady Eowyn paced impatiently in the grand foyer, tears lacing her eyes.

"She was taken from her own chambers while I sat idly by with a pot of tea. Tea!" Her tone was one of disgust. Delorah was trying in vain to calm the woman, following her every step and offering perhaps some rest or a bath.

"And how could her captor have slipped unnoticed by the guards? Have they slackened since the war?" She was growing furious. The small woman huffed and grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to sit.

"There be no sense in getting sick by it. Take heart in the hope that she'll be returned safely." Before Eowyn could interject, she was off to her duties. She demanded every inch of marble be spotless, if only to distract herself from the situation at hand.

The blonde maiden sighed with great frustration, though remained sitting. She allowed her head to rest along the wall, gaze drifting out to the bustle of the levels below. Civilians were taking to hiding in their homes, believing the city to be unsafe. Vendors were closing their stalls as the guards scared away business.

And amongst the crowds he walked, gait calm and casual. He bore a feathered hat, one crafted of fine leather. His cloak was of pristine wool, dyed a savory brown. Clutched in his hand was a letter, the scarlet seal smudged faintly by the warmth of his flesh.

If he were to meet the eyes of a guard he would nod respectively, tipping his hat some. He looked no more suspicious than any other face revealed along the cobblestone path, and so he continued along his way with a cheerful demeanor.

The day continued on, the sun reaching its peak in the sky. There was not a cloud to be seen from the hills of Ithilien to the plains of Rohan. And so the king, unknowing of his queen's dilemma, continued on to the city of Alhír.

By sunset the gates came into view, braziers blazing brightly against the orange and red sky. Tapestries of burgundy and gold hung from the sandstone pillars, and a crowd had arrived to welcome Lord Kain and his companions.

Aragorn waved as the horses continued forward to the center of the city, passing by homes that were nearly finished and some that were only just being founded. Though he soon set his eyes upon what looked to be a temple before him, intricately built and decorated with the city's colors.

"Welcome, Lord Aragorn, to Alhír." Kain's voice bellowed happily as he dismounted his steed, dusting his tunic with the back of his hand. Aragorn followed suit, as did his companions.

"A sight to behold, my friend. Your city is grand and its people admirable. I am overwhelmed." He laughed heartily as they entered the temple, which was clearly undergoing vast amounts of work once inside.

"You spoke of a means to bring water to your people?" The elf's voice piped up curiously.

"Yes, through caverns beneath the city angled just right. A brilliant method devised by my colleague, Jamhir. You will meet him during the negotiations." This satisfied the elf, as he fell silent once more.

"We have prepared quarters for your arrival, which you may retire to shortly. First there is much to discuss."

They entered the dining hall eagerly, just as a letter was set with trembling hands within the king's study, a rose resting upon it.

'_My darling, I have freed you of your delusions and fantasies in hopes that you might finally come to me. I fear you may not have received my last letter due to circumstance, but it is of no matter. I count the minutes to your return, and have a wonderful surprise planned for you._

_There is still much to be done, but fret not, for we will lay in each others company before the season's end. _

_It is not the queen that makes the king.'_

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**As I said, a bit short, but I do hope it was enjoyable. The next installment will not be taking five months to come out, more like a week, and should be longer. **

**Reviews are much appreciated! (Feed me.)**


	5. A Bitter Departure

**Oh my, is it actually an update? And it didn't take a year? Couldn't be. Well, it is, because my break from LotR and everything surrounding it seems to be over.**

**Also, I was emailed a question regarding our favorite blonde elf, and I assure you, _his role will be one of the main focal points in the coming chapters_. Patience!**

**And so, chapter five!**

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"Do you know what this is?"

Her eyes struggled to focus, his voice seeming to come from all corners of the room. She felt a chill creep along her spine as his hand grabbed a handful of her hair, lifting her head so that she might see the vial held before her.

"It is a simple mixture, really. A hint of hemlock, a touch of mandrake..all ground precisely together with a drop of almond oil."

He released her and she collapsed back to her elbows, fingers curling on the cold stone beneath her. The sound of a cork popping and a deep inhaling reached her ears. Still her eyes refused to behave, vision blurring and darkening.

"It is what has been keeping you so obedient." He spun on his heels to face her, stance elegant and poised as he tipped the vial back and forth.

"Perhaps you have noticed your vision failing, or your breath leaving you. Yes, a perfect dosage will keep you asleep for hours. Though, just the slightest slip and.." He leaned down, holding the toxin beneath her nose so that the bittersweet scent might reach her.

"You will never draw another breath." And finally she was able to see him clearly. He was meticulously groomed, hair smoothed back behind his ears, sharply angled jaw cleanly shaven. Within his eyes, however, she spotted hints of a haggard soul yearning for something. Though as soon as she glimpsed it it was gone, and he was standing upright once more.

She took note of her whereabouts at that time, eyes scanning the walls as he tinkered with his potions and herbs. There were no windows here, no light shed from the next room. A torch burned idly beside him, lighting his work. She could hear nothing but for a faint drip nearby, and a draft crept continuously along her revealed ankles. Her gown had been torn during her capture, knees scraped and dry. The binds about her wrists were unyielding to her weak state.

Beneath the lavender satin she could feel the child within her stir, and a relief washed over her. She breathed deeply, her strength returning slowly. The poisons were wearing off, though she knew it was only a matter of time before he drugged her once more.

"M'lady, you will be needing your strength. The city is not safe, and we depart at nightfall." A clay mug was set before her, along with a hunk of bread. She took no note of it however, her eyes reflecting a certain disbelief. They were still within the city walls. She may yet be found.

He seemed to read her thoughts, however, as a smirk tugged at his lips.

"Do not be so naïve, ma'am, to think that I would not have taken precautions. Now if you please." He motioned to the mug, "It is only tea. There is no need to sedate you so long as you act accordingly. We've little time. Drink." And with that he left the room, and she could hear sounds of rummaging and hushed voices.

And she admitted to herself at that moment the fear lurking about her. Fear for her life and the life of her child.

With bound hands she lifted the mug to her lips, sipping the lukewarm tea carefully. It left a bitter aftertaste and immediately she felt the urge to retch. It was then she truly wondered how long she had been captive, as her stomach was quite empty. And so she bit into the bread, forcing it down against the sickness building.

He entered the room once more, casting a grey woolen cloak before her. She hurriedly finished the meal as he cut her bindings, revealing sore and ragged wrists. Evidently she had put up a struggle.

"We've a short window of opportunity." As he strung the cloak over her shoulders she could spy just beyond him into the next room. There was a man there, watching impatiently. There was a rancid look about him.

She was lifted to her feet, and before she could utter a word he had drawn the large hood over her head and closed the front of her cloak. He ushered her quickly from the chamber, though she found her legs would not obey, as he was doing most of the work.

He released her as he fumbled with a series of locks and she fell against the wall, panting softly. Her feet were numb and her tongue was dry. Before she could gather her wits, however, she was crudely yanked upright by the second man, who gave her no more than a once-over with cold grey eyes.

As they made their way up a succession of stairs she realized they were beneath the city levels. The air became easier to breathe the higher they climbed, and the foul stench of mold and secretion faded. One last door was opened, and she could see the familiar white cobblestone and brick of her fair city.

"One sound and yer dead." The man hissed into her ear, breath hot and stale. He pushed her along, grip tight around her arm. Her captor led them along the road toward the grand gates where a pair of guards stood, and her hopes were renewed.

The man approached them eagerly, voice hushed in the evening air. The gates were then opened, revealing a carriage just beyond upon a grassy knoll. She was yanked along, and her eyes sought out the guard closest to her. He acknowledged her for a moment, though quickly looked away. She sensed a heavy guilt about him.

When they were distance enough from the city to speak freely, her captor spoke up.

"A man will go to great lengths to protect the ones he loves. Your loyal guards are no different." He chuckled as he wiped the sweat from his brow, hurrying to the carriage. It was aged and travel-worn, of that there was no doubt, but it would get them where they needed to go. The horse that would be pulling them was stout and strong, main lustrous and healthy.

And for the first time since awakening did she see cruelty in his eyes as he tossed her roughly into the carriage, crawling in behind her to bind her arms once more, along with her ankles. His voice was thick and panicked, his actions forceful and obstinate.

"Did you truly believe you could take him from me? That he would overlook what he longed for most? You stupid woman. You stupid, stupid woman!" And he struck her with great force, breaking the porcelain flesh of her cheek. With a grunt she braced the splintered floor of the cart, head swimming. Another fist made contact with her cheek, bone shattering beneath it. She cried out, attempting to kick him away.

"He was mine. He IS mine." He sneered, spitting at her feet. And with that he slammed the back shut, leaving her to the darkness. She curled in on herself, head throbbing and pressure building beneath her eye. Her belly ached with anxiety as the infant sensed its mother's distress, movements quick and restless.

The carriage began to move unsteadily and quick, and she found herself being bounced about. She remained silent, praying to herself that her husband might receive word of the situation as tears leaked from her eyes.

Though no word had yet reached the city her king resided at, for far was the journey for a messenger, and treacherous if one did not know the way.

And so Aragorn continued negotiations with the Alhíri people, comfortable in the knowledge that his queen was at rest in her bed.

"Minas Tirith has been allied with the Greenwood since the end of the war. As ambassador for its remaining people, Legolas has spoken on their behalf, and a means of trade would benefit them as well. They only ask that there be no tourism or any invasion. The elves are a very isolated people." Aragorn's voice echoed throughout the room as he spoke.

Lord Kain marked a series of routes on the map sprawled across the large table, labeling each respectively.

"These seem the most promising courses. We can set up stations directly between us for trades and the like." He motioned in a circle around the midpoint. Legolas peered over his shoulder, placing a finger beside the Greenwood's portrait on the map.

"I would prefer it if the route could be extended to there. I'd hate to see such damage to the trees were we to build into the boarder." This earned a glare from Jamhir, which the elf countered. He was a dark, scrawny man of short stature. Lord Kain sighed, sweeping a hand along the map.

"This is but a draft, Master Legolas. We will make the final alterations when the midway is established." The elf nodded, lifting a glass of wine from the table.

"Then we shall depart at first light to prepare the white city. I have no doubts it will be a welcome installment. Our ships have been yearning to sail these past months, and your shores are barren of business." At that the Lord laughed, patting Aragorn on the shoulder.

"Indeed they are. Our first ship has yet to taste the sea, but she is ready. She will not disappoint."

And so a parting feast was had to celebrate the coming of a new age for the Alhíri people and Gondor.

Though some miles away, heading east across Gondor's plains, a carriage road into the night. Its precious cargo writhed and squirmed for comfort that would not come. She could feel the heat of a fever creeping along her flesh, sweat glistening on her curves. A moan escaped her lips as the child kicked violently for respite from the constant movement.

And so she found herself retching onto the wood beneath her, whimpers escaping her throat between heaves. The face of her captor came into her mind as she fell ill, and she began to weep.

And he continued to smirk from his place at the city gates, the cart having faded from view some time ago. He was proud of his work, and it was only a matter of time until Aragorn returned.

He spoke to himself in the night, then.

"Soon, my darling. There is but one more nuisance that may yet threaten our love. He looked so haughty at your side on the battlefield..oh, I will bleed him of his pride. I will bathe in his fallen glory." Behind him the gates opened, and he entered the city. The guards kept their heads low, remaining ignorant as they could.

He returned to his home beneath the city streets, settling himself into the shabby cot that lay in wait for him. There he lifted a series of daggers from the floor, going about sharpening and polishing them to perfection.

"Soon."

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**There you have it! Everything begins to come together in the next installment, so stick around!**

**Reviews sustain me! (Hint, hint.)**


	6. Tormented Minds

**Chapter six, ahoy! Your reviews pumped me up for this, and I put a little extra spice into it. **

**Everything finally hits the proverbial fan. **

**Also, I forgot to mention: I based the relationship between Aragorn and Legolas on the firm belief that they were the best of companions while Aragorn stayed in Rivendell. I was and still am a huge fan of Cassia and Siobhan's works in the Mellon Chronicles, and I consider the relationship they portrayed there to be true.**

**Enjoy! And review. I have weapons. **

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The sounds of crackling earth and creaking wood awoke the queen from her restless slumber, alerting her that the road had become decidedly more uneven. The cart swayed and dipped as its wheels seemed to target every bump, if only just to make her all the more uncomfortable.

Through the tiny gaps in the cart's paneling the sun shone, granting her some ounce of comfort that the world was still a warm place outside the confines of the prison she had found herself in. And beyond the must of her quarters she could smell an elevated moisture about her, as well as the faint odor of ash.

Just as soon as she found a somewhat comfortable spot, the cart was drawn to a halt. She could hear rustling and grunting behind her, though before she could register what was occurring, the doors were thrown open and she was blinded by the sudden burst of sunlight.

A pair of rough hands hauled her from the carriage, and her bare feet made contact with sodden leaves. The horse whinnied and bucked behind her as the crude bindings were cut from her wrists, blood trickling away from the marred flesh. She could make out a hooded figure as her eyes finally adjusted to the light, and he regarded her with pity as he wrapped a blindfold about her face.

Fear crept into her heart, spurring on a burst of adrenaline as she fought against his grip. Her feet slid and stomped in the leaves, torso writhing about, but he was too strong. She whined and grunted, refusing to give in. The squeak of a door opening caused her to jerk roughly to the side, but she was cast forward to the ground. Her captor delivered a sharp blow to her back, sending her tumbling down a short flight of steps. The door was slammed shut, and darkness fell once more.

Silence was all this new prison had to offer her. She tore the blindfold from her face, casting it aside as her eyes were once more forced to adjust.

And just as she began to believe she was alone, a faint shuffling sounded to her left, and a lamp was lit. She started with fear, scooting back against the steps, only to be hushed by a calming voice. Her eyes widened as she took in the grime-ridden face of a woman who could not yet have seen thirty winters.

"Relax, m'lady.." Her voice was rough, her lips chapped. She had eyes that resembled the evergreen and a golden crown of hair that may have at one time rivaled the sun of its beauty. But now it was laden with soot and sweat, matted with knots and braids.

Arwen took a heavy breath, limbs trembling and back aching.

"Who are you? Are you one of them?" Her lips quivered.

"My name is Gretta Wellsbough, m'lady. I reside in the White City. My husband is a guard to your people." She drifted off, voice taking on a sad tone. The queen looked upon her with startling revelation, her previous captor's words ringing in her head.

_"A man will go to great lengths to protect the ones he loves. Your loyal guards are no different."_

"How did you end up here, Gretta? Who are these men?" She gripped the woman's shoulders, a hint of panic evident in her eyes.

"Please, my lady..I do not know. I was taken from the warmth of my bed. I do not know how long it has been, though I feel it has been some weeks.." She trailed off as the queen's expression took on a pained look, hand gripping her belly. A small gasp escaped her.

"My lady, please.." She eased her queen against the wall, onto a filthy bed roll beside the lamp. She fished a crust of bread from a nearby basket, offering it to her.

"You must relax. For the babe's sake. You cannot be yet due, so please..the last thing we want is a premature birth." She forced the bread into Arwen's hand, nudging it toward her mouth.

"Are there more of you, Gretta?" her voice was strained as she forced herself to breathe, gripping the bread tightly.

"There were, but they were taken in the night. I was convinced it was my time when the doors were opened, but then you were cast before me. How could this have happened.." A soft sob echoed in the room, and she shook her head. The queen had fallen into a restless state of slumber, and she sighed.

"Rest, m'lady.."

With trembling hands she lowered the lamplight, trying in vain to find what sleep she might in these early hours.

For early the hour was, as the sun was not but halfway to its peak in the sky. Its rays led the way for the troop in Haradwaith, allowing for excellent time on their part. The majestic horses bounded at battle speeds, heads tossed back in the seasonal warmth.

Aragorn allowed himself the brief luxury of closing his eyes, the wind caressing his skin and lifting his spirits further. He smiled at the prospect of bringing a new culture to his city, and of seeing his queen's eyes light up at his arrival.

He looked to his right, then, to spy on his elf companion. Legolas was stooped forward, hands resting on either side of the stallion's muscular neck. He rode with no saddle as he oft did in their travels with the fellowship when Gimli did not require his company.

The heavy beating of hooves upon the earth was interrupted by a shout, followed by a halt. Calahn leapt from the chestnut mare, rushing forward. The dust settled about him as he fell to one knee, frantically searching what looked to be a heap of supplies.

As Aragorn stepped closer, however, a rancid stench came upon him like a storm. He choked once, covering his nose with the back of his wrist. He was no stranger to the odor of decay, and he approached with haste.

There in the sand lay a man of fewer than twenty winters, and as Calahn managed to clear him of the dirt on his person, it was clear that he bore the colors of Gondor.

"This is one of our runners, sir." The man's voice was urgent as he checked the corpse for any signs of his purpose in Haradwaith. Aragorn frowned, stooping down to examine the boy as well. He was in decent shape, though his skin was a sickly gray. The king pried his mouth open, and to his surprise he found that the victim's tongue was a startling gray as well.

"This boy was severely dehydrated." He reached to the flask at the runner's belt. It was nearly empty.

"He came by horse, my lord. Not since the war do we send people on foot. The beast must have run off." The leather-skinned man added, eyeing a set of tracks heading north.

Aragorn uncorked the skin, giving its contents a sniff. He frowned, brows furrowed as he passed it to Legolas. The elf repeated the man's actions, only to have a similar reaction.

"Poison." He offered it back, looking to the group. Faramir had made his way to their side, looking grim.

"We have not yet addressed a more pressing matter, my lords. What was he sent to tell us? Clearly it was important that he did not deliver his message." He brushed a hand through his red locks, sand glistening in the sunlight as it fell from his scalp. Aragorn nodded gravely, collecting the boy into his arms. Calahn went to protest, though Legolas stopped him.

"We must make haste to the city. We do not stop." He hoisted the boy onto his saddle, mounting just after.

They continued on, the boarders of Ithilien within their sight. It was clear the messenger did not get far on his journey, as the men had been traveling nearly two days by this time.

And as the hours of their journey passed quickly, so did they crawl for Lady Arwen. For in the darkness of her new prison she lay, feet bruised and back aching. The pain in her stomach had passed, and the babe seemed to be at rest. Her mind, however, reeled and tottered. Her head was pounding and her companion was doing little to ease her mind. It was clear Gretta was trying desperately to keep a certain calm about them, but it was in vain. And it was then the woman's voice broke the silence.

"A woman comes but once every few days with food and drink. She looks upon me with such pity, she does. She informed me last that we are in Eastern Enedwaith, in a small village at the base of the Misty Mountains. But she could tell me no more. I can sense a guilt about her."

Arwen had never traveled to Enedwaith, though she had heard of its downfall when the great floods occurred. Still, though, a population had grown in the absence of crops.

"Those footsteps I often hear above us..it is not in my head, then?" The queen inquired, doubting the insanity she was sure to be creeping in her mind.

"No, my lady. I suspect we are in a cellar. Sometimes I smell sweet food and hear laughter, though I am unsure what is my imagination these days."

Arwen offered a sad smile at that. Her eye was swollen shut at this point, the flesh cracked and raw. She laid her head back against the wall, allowing herself the rest she still desperately needed. In her mind she saw her husband and wondered where he was, and if he had received word of the situation yet.

A single tear drifted down her cheek, and Gretta squeezed her hand comfortingly.

"The city will have been turned upside down by now." The small woman's voice cracked some.

And right she was, for the white city was in a state of panic.

"My lord..the queen, she has been taken."

Aragorn stared in horror at the man before him. To his left Faramir comforted a distraught Eowyn.

"Taken." He repeated the last word, disbelief clear on his features. The man cleared his throat, stammering some. He could not have been serving his king for more than a year, and never once expected to be the one to deliver such news.

"Y-yes, m'lord..she went missing three days ago. We sent a runner and have searched every inch of the city. We have also sent out groups.." He trailed off. Aragorn looked caught between fury and sorrow. He grabbed the boy by the shoulders, hands set in a vice grip, causing his victim to wince.

"That's not good enough. If my own chambers are not safe, then any one of you could be against me!" He shook with anger, and Legolas set a hand to his shoulder, slipping into the elvish tongue.

"Aragorn, we will find her. But do not take your fury out on the boy." He spoke with confidence. Aragorn exhaled sharply, releasing the lad, who scurried off quickly.

"This is all my fault.." Eowyn's voice was soft, filled with distress. Faramir shook his head, holding her close as he looked to his king.

"With your permission, my lord, I would return to Ithilien to group my own search party. We must cover all the ground we can."

Aragorn looked to his elf friend, fists clenched at his sides.

"I will not stand idly by. Send runners to Rohan, for surely Eomer will offer his services. Faramir." He turned to the Prince of Ithilien.

"Make haste to Ithilien and form a course of action. Eowyn, you will accompany him. The city is not safe." The white lady whimpered softly, hurrying off to gather her things. Faramir saluted his king, leaving the throne room to prepare.

Once the room was emptied the king sat heavily, head cradled in his palm.

"My friend..I know not where to begin." He spoke with great difficulty, fighting the wave of emotions threatening to break free.

"She is carrying my child, Legolas. Did she not suffer enough in the war?" Legolas frowned, removing the circlet from his head and setting it aside. He offered a hand to the king, ushering him along to his study.

"Come, Estel. You need rest, as much as you may deny it. Take light that every soul in this region is looking for your queen. The moment a lead is found we will chase it to the end." His words did little to soothe the weary king, though the man did indeed settle into the lounge within his study.

"I will fetch Delorah. I'm sure despite the circumstances she took the time to prepare you a meal." The elf departed the room before his friend could protest.

Aragorn sat in silence, eyes closed as if he expected to wake from a dream. His head was swimming from the heat and his heart raced with concern for his beloved. As he opened his eyes, however, he spotted a wilting rose set upon his desk.

He approached it hesitantly, noting the parchment beneath it. With trembling fingers he broke the unfamiliar seal, eyes scanning the page.

As Legolas returned the king met his gaze, fingers clutching the parchment tightly.

The elf had never seen such fear in his friend, and his words left a hollow feeling in the room.

"It is not the queen that makes the king.."

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**I hope you enjoyed this installment and anticipate the next! Please review, my lovelies.**


	7. Further Suffering

**Hey again all. Thank you so much for the reviews and thank you to those that reviewed anonymously!**

**Enjoy!**

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Five days passed without word, serving to further silence a city gripped mercilessly by growing fear. It seemed even the sun lost its will to shine, a torrential rain having rolled in sometime in the night.

Delorah stood rigid by the entryway of the palace, the grand doors open just enough to allow for the summer humidity to escape. Her hair was taught as usual, not a fiery strand out of place as she peered into the grim weather through tired eyes.

Meticulous hands smoothed the black and ivory garb about her form, tugging the satin into place. One might say she seemed uneasy, almost jittery as she stood, waiting for perhaps the staff to awaken.

And just as thunder sounded in the distance, she spotted a hooded figure, followed by another. Her breath caught, lips pulled thin as she took in the soaked wool cloaks and sodden boots heading toward her. They beheld a weary stance, and she glimpsed traces of raven hair peeking from the grey hoods.

As they reached the doorway she backed away, expecting to be addressed. Instead they stalked passed, footfalls light upon the marble.

"Wait just a minute, you. You can't just come in here and expect to be seen!" She shuffled after them, reaching out to grope for what she could of the closest man's cloak. She managed to tug his hood free, revealing hair as black as night. As he turned to look at her she spied a pair of gray eyes encompassed by fair skin and a smile as kind as her king.

"My lady, while I do admire your spirit, I assure you..your King will be expecting us." She spotted the second man remove his hood as he continued toward the grand stairwell, and the one addressing her flashed a charming smile as he followed. Her eyes narrowed as she peered over her shoulders to the entryway once more before hurrying after them, continuing to protest.

They approached the doors of the grand hall, and the two began speaking in a tongue she had heard only her lord and lady speak. Begrudgingly she pushed her way by them, opening the doors to reveal the room to be empty save for Aragorn pouring over a series of maps, and his elf friend close by examining the letters.

"My lords, I do apologize. The hour is early and your worries are high, though these two were persistent and would listen to not a word." Though her apologies were lost as the tall pair stepped before her, another smile tossed her way. Aragorn's voice echoed throughout the room, then, and she sighed heavily.

"Could it be that the sons of Elrond have brought word?" The smile on Aragorn's face offered a warmth that betrayed the gravity of his tone. The twins chuckled in unison, embracing their brother as they met him halfway.

"Word arrived just last eve of our sister. Imladris is empty enough, dear brother, that we would not suffer this news by remaining behind. Fortunately, we have been stationed in Rohan these past months." Elladan's voice was music to the man's ears, for he had missed his brothers since the war.

"And we bring with us some information you may find useful." Elrohir chimed in, making his way toward the Greenwood Prince in greeting. Aragorn's eyes lit up at this.

"Yes, my brother is correct. As we traveled through the White Mountains, we spotted a small convoy gathered in the Morthond Vale. There were women and children there, caged, and men also. Perhaps seven at most." He traced a finger along the valley's outline on the map. Aragorn frowned, looking to Legolas. The prince nodded thoughtfully, sweeping a hand toward the image.

"We take course through Lamedon. We can overtake them if we cut them off." Elladan nodded, looking to his brothers.

"We can waste no time. Estel, you must stay with your city. Let us bring your beloved back." At that, Aragorn stood rigid.

"We depart at nightfall." He would hear no protests as he fled the room, maps in tow. Elrohir shook his head, patting Elladan on the back.

"I told you he wouldn't listen, 'Dan." But the elf shrugged him off with a grunt. Delorah sauntered over, taking from them their sodden cloaks and packs.

"Those people you saw..were they okay?" She stopped at the door, looking back to the twins for a response. Elrohir looked to her curiously, offering a curt nod.

"They looked to have been put through some trouble, though all stood on their own. Why do you ask?" But the woman had gone, presumably to cater to the staff. The elf sighed, accompanying his brother to follow after Aragorn.

Legolas smiled to himself, exhaling a soft sigh as he gathered the letters into his satchel. He drifted into thought as he allowed his feet to carry him toward his quarters, where he donned an evergreen cloak. He secured his daggers to their holsters at his back, though left his bow behind as he headed for his destination.

The grand doors had been fully opened, the rain seeming to have slowed to a light drizzle for the time being. The elf drew his hood up, stepping out into the vacant street. The citizens of the white city had taken to shutting themselves in, fearing that their home would come to further threat.

The stables came into view, and he spotted the pristine white main of his horse. The stallion tossed its head back in pleasure, and the elf assumed one of the stable boys was tending to the beasts.

As he entered, he stopped to admire the horses brought by the sons of Elrond. Two black mares, each bearing manes of silken quality. He smiled, running a hand down the broad neck of the closest. A sound to his left caught his attention, and he spotted a woman kneeling by the king's steed. He stepped over to her, demeanor polite.

"My lady, do you require aid? I know much about this horse." The stallion snorted and whinnied, shaking its mane out. Startled, the woman turned, revealing a pair of wide green eyes.

"Master elf! W-what are you doing here?" He recognized her as Delorah, and frowned when he spotted a letter clutched in her hand. She was fighting with the clasp on the horse's satchel.

"What are you doing with that..?" He stepped closer, tugging the hood from his head. The rain began to fall harder outside the stable, the horses growing uneasy beneath the thumping on the roof. Delorah stood, growing a pale shade as she shook her head furiously.

"You don't understand. You shouldn't be here. You should be out looking for those people." Still he inched closer, hand reaching for the letter.

"He has my husband. My daughter." Her words fell short as a knife was pressed to the elf's back. A cold voice penetrated the sudden silence, and Legolas felt a chill along his spine.

"She's right to caution you. You should not be so curious. It was not yet your time." The elf spun, throwing his hands into the man's chest. Their eyes met and blades clashed as Delorah fled, the letter clutched in her hand.

"You fool! Do you have any idea how long this has been in the making? You will not get in my way." His voice was crude and heavy, and in his eyes the elf could see the sleepless nights of late. Their blades locked, and the elf drove his knee into his assailant's gut.

The man cried out in fury, slamming his head into the fair being's face. Legolas stumbled back against the wall, blinking against the water building in his eyes as blood blossomed from his nose. It was all his attacker needed as he hurled his sword into the elf's shoulder. Legolas grunted, the blade pinning him to the sturdy beam at his back.

"You cannot protect him." The Prince's eyes widened, though before a word could be uttered the man slammed the hilt of his dagger into his temple, rendering him unconscious. For a moment he took a sick satisfaction from seeing the limp form, held up only by the blade that pierced him. Though he knew he had to act fast, and so he crudely yanked the blade free and gathered the body, slipping unnoticed into the rain to his carriage.

He tossed the elf into the back, binding his hands and securing a gag between his lips. The blood from his nose had caked along his face and into his hair as he laid on his back, though the man held no pity. He threw his fist into the already battered nose for good measure before slamming the back shut.

It would be hours before the elf awoke, the city far behind him and rain pouring in through the aged wood's cracks. A sharp, radiating pain erupted in his waking state, and he found himself unable to stifle a groan. He began to breathe heavily, eyes darting from side to side in the darkness. His shoulder refused to move as he attempted to roll onto his side, and his head was throbbing.

The road was uneven and hazardous in the heavy rains, mud threatening the path as the hours passed. The prince drifted in and out of consciousness, sweat clinging to his brow. And just as the pain began to fade and numbness crept upon him the cart came to a halt. He could hear muffled voices, though everything was a haze. The doors were opened and he was dragged forth by his legs, allowed to fall heavily to the mud. He moaned softly against the gag, his shoulder screaming as the wound was irritated further.

"Get on your feet, filth." A swift kick was administered to his side, causing him to curl inward. He choked against the cloth, mud filling his mouth as another kick sent a clump of earth into his face. He fought to get onto his elbows, only to be met with the crack of a whip and a searing pain along his back. Though against it all he managed to get to his knees, blinking furiously to clear the grime from his eyes.

Before him stood a man he recognized almost immediately. His mind flashed to the halls of Alhír and to the man that sneered at him any chance he may have had. He recalled a startling feeling of prejudice in the man, and now his suspicions were proven correct.

He was shaken from his thoughts when the whip came crashing down once more, sending his head reeling. He got to his feet, stumbling forward. The man continued to send the whip against him until he was stopped by a second man, one the elf did not recognize. He was a larger sort, hair a dusty blonde and features sharp as a dagger. He bore a scar along his cheek, though there was nothing truly remarkable about him.

"That's enough, Jamhir." The darker man sneered, spitting a crude discolored wad to the ground before trudging off. Legolas took this moment to examine his surroundings, and he realized he was at the caravan the brothers had spoken of. A camp was being disassembled, and a group of men and women were being ushered into a poorly-fashioned cage atop a cart. And before he knew it he was being led toward it and shoved inside, though at this point he could barely keep himself standing.

The cart began to move, and through his haze he realized a woman was tending to him. She had torn a portion of her gown and was using it to wrap his shoulder. Her eyes were lackluster and her hair was matted with blood. She did not speak a word to him.

"Where are they taking us..?" He spoke up, the red-headed girl across from him having removed his gag. She shook her head, wiping the tears from her green eyes.

"We have been gathered from separate places..they move us perhaps every other week.." He frowned, looking to the small group. Most of them eyed him cautiously, keeping to themselves.

And finally he succumbed to the darkness tugging at his mind.

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**Sort of a cliffy, but that's because I have a lot planned for the next chapter. I hope you enjoyed!**

**Please review, it sustains me.**


	8. Flashback

**Well, let's see, it's been over two years since my last update, I believe. I had never intended to abandon this story, though life has a way of rearing its head in. I lost pretty much all interest in writing for a while, though now that I've settled down and such, it seems I'm at it again.**

**This chapter may not be the longest of submissions, but I wanted to post another installment as soon as I could.**

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It was a violent jerk that awoke him, followed by the foul taste of muck as he was thrown to the ground once more. His shoulder was screaming and his head was pounding, and all the while his vision refused to clear.

Around him he could hear voices, muffled at first until his head began to clear. He heard the soothing tones of mothers as their children cried, the comforting assurance of fathers to their sons. For a moment he felt as though he was returned to Helms Deep, witnessing the families torn apart as they were ushered into the glittering caves. It brought a certain pain to his heart, one that he recalled as being alleviated by his rugged companion. But there was no comfort here.

He was dragged to his feet by rough hands, shoved cruelly toward a makeshift tent of branches and burlap. Briefly he observed that the rain had ceased to pour, the air having taken on a musty scent.

The flap to the tent was opened, revealing the broad-shouldered man he had encountered earlier. Beside him was Jamhir, looking every bit the disgruntled taskmaster he took him for.

"You seem to have a knack for getting in the way of things, elf." The leather-skinned man looked to him, smirking as he was shoved to a sitting position. He fought the urge to cringe, refusing to grant what satisfaction it would bring to the two.

"It seems, however, that you are a blessing in disguise." At this Legolas frowned, blue eyes seeking out black orbs. The burly man chortled, taking a swig from his flask.

"Your race is dying, elf, though your lands are prospering. My lord Kain does not see the futility of creating a treaty between our people." He smirked, looking to his companion. Legolas followed his gaze, shifting his arm somewhat. He realized now that the wound had been bound securely, though he could feel the faint trailing of blood along his arm.

"By removing those that remain in the Greenwood entirely, Alhír would prosper without hindrance from your tree-loving kin." To this the elf sneered.

"What business did that man have with Aragorn? What does he have to do with your people, and where is Lady Arwen?" His voice was ragged, and he had a sudden and great desire for water.

"I was contacted two summers past by a man cloaked in brown. It was he that suggested my lord Kain contact your king, as our lands were not but rising from the ashes at that point. We heard nothing of him after that, until a letter arrived in the winter season." He withdrew his knife and began running his thumb along the blade.

"It requested a meeting. I went in my lord's stead, riding to a small village in Enedwaith. It was there that an accord was struck. He seemed after my own interest as he expressed that the elven lands would be at our mercy were we to aid him in his ventures. The meaning of which being, of course, making sure you and the others here stay put."

Legolas found himself staring at the skin of water by the silent man's hip, his tongue dry as bone and head light as a feather. It was some time before he realized the man had stopped speaking, though his words registered so loudly in his mind.

"This man...what does he want with Aragorn?" He could detect a slur in his own voice, and his vision began to swim. He felt hot.

"He spoke little of his own agenda, and I cared little to hear it. As far as your kingdom is concerned, my beliefs lie in the old ways." He smiled a crude smile as he noted the sweat on his prisoner's brow.

"There is much I would do to see Haradwaith rein. But do not trouble yourself. You will not live long enough to see the brewing despair." He stood, delivering a swift blow to the elf's gut. A cry wrenched from the fair being's throat, bile pooling at his lips.

"You are mine to do with as I please. Lord Eadgyth wishes to never see the light in your eyes again."

The name sent the elf's memory into a whirlwind. Images flashed before his eyes, though another blow to his midsection sent him reeling. His vision faded.

-(( ))-

"_Strider." His voice was muffled by the thick wool scarf wrapped securely about his face. The air was bitterly cold, ice clinging to whatever it may. The Ranger looked down from his perch, body rigid as the chill penetrated the ragged duster about him. _

"_It is nearly nightfall." Blue eyes drifted down to the snow-laden elf, a mirthful smirk tugging at his chapped lips. The lithe blonde made his way up beside his companion, balancing on his toes. He pulled the stiff fabric away from his face, exhaling heavily in the evening air. _

"_The forest is silent. Do you believe the sightings were accurate?" He looked to the man, fingers tracing lines in the rocks absently._

_It had been three months since the elf joined his companion in the North, likely at the request of the sons of Elrond. Word had spread of a shadow looming over Middle Earth, one that seemed to agitate what orcs gathered in the forests. Reports of attacks were frequent, and so the Ranger and his Elven cohort were stationed in the Misty Mountains to survey the land. _

"_Perhaps they lay low for cover of darkness. Come morning, the villagers will be thankful for a restful sleep." His eyes scanned over the small town below. There were women tending horses and children at play._

_Legolas nodded slowly, replacing the scarf about his face. _

"_Go warm yourself, Strider. I will take watch." The Ranger obliged, clambering down the rocky surface to the small camp at its base. The elf drew his hood up, an evening snow beginning to fall. _

_The night drew on without incident. By midnight a blanket of snow had coated the village, the children having long since turned in. The homes were dark but for a small tavern at the southernmost hill where smoke rose from a comfortable hearth and the scents of food permeated the air. Legolas could hear laughter from his perch, and it brought a joy to his heart. _

_And so another hour passed, at which time Aragorn had crawled from his slumber to take up his place beside the elf once more. They shared rations of bread and cheese beside lantern light, their bodies having grown used to the cold. _

"_Do you believe the rumors of an evil growing in the East?" The elf inquired quietly as he adjusted his cloak. The Ranger pursed his lips in thought, nodding his head from side to side. _

"_I pray it is not true, though the recent orc activity cannot be mere coincidence. There is someone holding the whip at their backs." He leaned back on his hands, a soft sigh escaping him. For a moment everything was silent, the sounds of the tavern dying down. _

_And then they heard it, the sickening, piercing sound of a woman's scream. It harbored panic and pain unimaginable before being cut short. Elf and man leapt into action, climbing hurriedly down the rocky formation, arms at the ready. _

_The town sprung to life in moments, men shouting and children crying after their mothers. A group of orcs had poured in behind the village in the dark of the night, killing whomever they might as they went. The Ranger took up his arms and immediately met blades with one of the cruel creatures. Legolas fired arrow after arrow, the sharp ends never failing as they took down each foe. _

_The men of the village joined in combat, black and red blood splaying through the snow. Homes were set ablaze and the women and children focused on escape. Screams echoed through the forest, though none were heard. _

_A cry for help reached the elf's ears, and he directed his attentions toward the tavern he had only an hour ago seen alive with activity. It was burning, black smoke pouring from the rooftop. He ran toward it, leaping over corpses and firing arrows as he went. _

_The door had been broken down, though he spotted no orcs within. The roof had collapsed, and through the dense smoke he could hear the cries grow louder. _

_He followed the voice to the basement, where he found a young man pinned beneath a fallen banister. His face was coated in ash and blood, his expression one of panic. The elf rushed forward, pushing the beam forward and fighting the boy free. He hefted him up, helping him out before the smoke overtook them both. _

_The boy coughed violently as the elf lowered him into the snow, far out of sight. He inspected him for wounds, finding nothing life-threatening. _

"_Do not move." His voice was hushed as he shoved a dagger into the boy's hands. _

"_Don't leave me." Wide, panicked eyes met the blue orbs of the elf. Legolas shook his head, assuring the boy's grip was firm on the weapon. _

"_I will return." He hurried away, back into the fray. There he found Aragorn, looking battered but not broken as he and the men fought off the last of the threat. _

_Bodies lay strewn about, the snow stained a sickening shade of deep crimson. Legolas rested a hand upon his friend's shoulder, looking about. _

"_There is another village not but half a day's walk from here. Let us tend to the wounded and lead the people there." _

_The Ranger nodded in agreement, rubbing at his nose with his sleeve. _

"_We will gather what supplies we can." His eyes scanned the fires as he spoke, his voice harboring not much hope in the idea of salvaging anything worth taking. He tugged at the sleeves of his coat, patting his elf friend on the back. _

"_Do not fret. This night could have had a vastly more horrid outcome." _

_And so the two huddled the survivors into one of the last standing homes, Legolas having made sure to return to the boy he had saved. He led him into the home, laying him beside the fire. He assessed his wounds, binding his leg, as it was likely broken. _

"_Thank you." His voice was ragged, likely due to smoke inhalation. The elf shook his head, assuring the makeshift splint was secure. _

"_Thanks are not necessary. I am sorry this tragedy befell your home." He went to stand, only to feel a hand about his wrist. He looked back, the boy offering the dagger back to him. _

"_Desmond. Desmond Eadgyth." _

_The elf took the weapon with a soft smile. _

"_Thank you, Desmond." _

_And so the night passed in silence, little sleep being had to those remaining. Aragorn spent the time salvaging what he could, while Legolas tended to the wounded. By sunrise, the group was moving toward their destination. _

"_Where are we going?" A young girl's voice piped up as she clung to her mother's dress. Aragorn looked back to her, smiling softly._

"_There is a village in Enedwaith, just beyond Eregion. It will be a safe place." The girl smiled a cheekish smile, going about admiring her surroundings. _

_The Ranger looked ahead once more, though not without noticing the young man Demond's watchful eyes. He seemed to admire the man, as even with his wounded leg he insisted on walking at his side and aiding in carting the supplies. _

"_Tell me Desmond. What brought you to the Misty Mountains?" He inquired as he stepped over a log. The boy, who could not be older than seventeen, frowned some._

"_I come from a cobbler family of Rohan. We took pride in our work. Though, my parents were killed during a crossing of the White Mountains. When they passed, I decided to find what life there was for me. I ended up here, working as a tavern boy." _

_Aragorn nodded. _

"_I hope to one day make the passage to Gondor and to start anew." He sounded hopeful, though his eyes remained locked on the face of the Ranger. _

_At that moment, Legolas hurried ahead a ways, stopping at a hilltop. He looked back at the group, nodding. Aragorn smiled, surveying the people. _

"_We have arrived. Warm beds and hot meals await you all." _

_A collective sigh of happiness was heard throughout the group, though the sorrow and burden of their loss was clear. _

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**And there you have it, the first update in years. I'll follow up with the second half of the flashback in the coming weeks. I had initially intended it to be one chapter, but I wanted to get this out and work the kinks from the remaining portion.**


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